


a princely affair

by mucchan



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Royalty AU, midorima and takao are tiny gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mucchan/pseuds/mucchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Midorima and Takao turn the world to gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a princely affair

## now

 **T** akao is strong.

He’s bold, beautiful, and seems to be unmistakably crafted from iron. Only if one doesn't peer too closely, that is.

(However, Midorima notices. He’s always noticed). 

For Takao is a _protector._ He knows where his duties lie, and he does them remarkably well. Midorima would know; he never fails to recognize the universe scrawled across Takao's shoulders.

It’s quite admirable, really.

(But, then again, he’d never admit this aloud. Not today, at least). 

• • •

## then

 **T** hey're ten when they meet. It’s an unremarkable occurrence, really, save for the hearty, dangerous collision that brings the two boys together in the first place. 

Unfortunately, today, Midorima’s temper is dangerously sharp, and he can only stand back and watch as the last spindle of thread _snaps._

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” Midorima shouts, wincing as he eyes a newly colouring bruise. 

It dissolves into a vivid shade of purple before his eyes, streaking along the edges of his knees. It’s almost beautiful, albeit the torn skin. 

The other boy, scrawny and dark-haired, looks sheepish and not at _all_ apologetic (but then again, Midorima’s wrath had always strayed a bit to the petty side) as he begins to pick himself up. 

Green eyes, a smattering of freckles, and a soft, confident smile stick in the back of his mind. 

The boy offers a shaking, sullied hand. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of his lips like water, bubbling out of his throat profusely. Midorima watches as they spill, uninvited, but regarded all the same.

(How inconveniently polite). 

Midorima quickly pits his hospitality against his pride, quietly calculating how much trouble each option will bring. On one hand, while he is admittedly exceptionally bratty, he does not quite enjoy facing the wrath of his father. He decides against the latter. 

“. . . It’s alright,” Midorima settles on answering, pointedly ignoring the outstretched hand. He tilts his chin back and returns to his feet swiftly.

Once standing, the two of them look at one another with shy curiosity. 

(A beat skips). 

“Well, I’m Takao,” the boy offers, “and I’m planning on being a knight, someday.”

Midorima nods. He can see the potential and determination written within his gaze. 

He mentally rolls the name on his tongue, softly tasting the syllables. It’s a simple name, and briskly reminds him of waves shattering against the shore. Remarkably, it suits the boy. 

“Nice to meet you, Takao. I’m Prince Midorima.”

_“Really?”_

Takao’s response is less impressed than it is nonchalant, much to Midorima’s dismay. He watches carefully as Takao pockets his hands, returning the statement with an offending, ludicrous grin. 

He sweeps over Midorima’s golden robes briefly. 

Midorima doesn't like the sentiment underlying the grin before him, and moves to leave before it reveals itself, until Takao laughs. 

“Hey! Don’t leave. Not yet. You’re much grouchier than I thought you’d be, but I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Midorima scowls. 

“I sure hope it was all good,” Midorima answers drily.

“Oh, don't you worry. You’re the marvel of this town.” 

“. . . Am I? Do elaborate.” 

“Fine. But only if you can _catch_ me!”

Midorima’s jaw tightens. 

Takao grasps this opportunity and takes off sprinting, kicking up dust as he races down the hillside. The sun illuminates the freckles sprinkled across his cheeks. 

Of course, Midorima can't help the streak of competitiveness that briefly flashes before his eyes. 

The boys are a blur amongst the town. 

• • •

 **“S** o, what do you like to do in your free time?” Takao asks, rambling a little too loudly for Midorima’s taste. He swings his legs wildly as they sit across from one another in the library.

The Midorima family library is _grandiose_ —each shelf is impressively packed with what seems like a collection of books with no end. Takao could probably uncover the secrets of the universe here, if he really wanted to. 

The atmosphere is light, to say the least. It's Monday morning and the day starts off quietly, as if gradually awakening from a season of slumber. 

Midorima digests the question, and settles on continuing to scan his textbook. 

After a comfortable moment of silence, the sky begins to mirror its surroundings below and unfurls clouds by the dozen. The world is finally flickering to life. 

Takao huffs softly, pausing to stretch his limbs out. Midorima follows suit. 

“Well, I read a little, and play piano, mostly,” he finally answers, briefly looking up from his literature. He thumbs the next page, thinks better of the action, and finally decides to set the book down. 

Takao beams in return. (Midorima decides he looks nice doing so). At least, this way, his mouth is shut. 

“Can I hear you play sometime?” he asks, quirking a brow.

Midorima sighs. 

“Sometime,” he agrees. 

Takao nods, taking in this answer gratefully. “So, do you play any games? Or do you have any toys? Surely even the prince has one _normal_ interest.”

Midorima looks thoughtful for a moment, and presses a bandaged finger to his chin. 

He shakes his head swiftly.

“Not that I know of, no. Father doesn't allow me to be ‘distracted from my duties’ very often.”

“What a pity. Well, we’ll make do with what we have and play house. Shall we?” 

Midorima feints interest (or so he thinks) and gives in. He’ll cater to this boy’s game today. 

“Alright, I’ll play. But do tell me the rules before I kick your ass.”

• • •

 **H** ouse becomes a common pastime for the two boys. They’re twelve by now, fumbling into newly grown limbs and fragile, shattering voices. 

Their friendship is blatantly frowned upon, but that doesn't stop them—no, not quite. 

Besides, it’s summer solstice. 

“Let’s switch it up this time,” Takao decides, pressing a hand to his cheek. 

“How so?” Midorima asks, eyes narrowing. He blanches at the mere prospect of change, but does his best to fold and tuck the thought away. 

It works, he thinks. It’s a bit pressed and half-hearted, but he gives himself credit for the attempt, anyway.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve studied your parents enough by now. How about . . . today, you’ll be the mother and I’ll be the father?”

Midorima narrows his eyes even further. 

“And, in what universe did you think I would be _motherly?_ ” he starts.

“Well, I figured you could use some work for the part. But I know there's some fondness and affection deep within you,” Takao shoots back, chuckling. 

“And if I say no?” 

Much to Midorima’s dismay and irritation, Takao only tilts his head back and begins to laugh harder, shoulders shaking, and tongue coated with honey. 

“Oh, trust me, you won’t. Because, if you do, you lose. And we all know how poor of a loser you are.”

Midorima nods, mentally grasping onto his crown tightly. He imagines rows of lilies, set ablaze. 

“Fine. Let’s just get it over with.”

They exchange roles quietly. Midorima begrudgingly slides his textbooks over, and Takao compiles his few cooking utensils.

“Alright, so how’re you today, Mrs. Midorima?” 

“Hey! Take that _back._ ”

They end up playing for several hours.

It’s a comfortable exchange of dialogue, and Midorima learns several things about his dark-haired companion. 

For instance, Takao is incredibly stubborn and his pride is even greater, especially if at stake. Perhaps, this is what was meant when his parents warned him of the collision of thunder and hurricanes. 

Unsurprisingly, Takao also comes from a lesser family, just down the road, and likes the number 19, which, conveniently, is also Midorima’s lucky number. 

Not only this, Takao knows the exact placement of Midorima's buttons and uses this knowledge to poke and prod at them cheerfully; by now, he’s all too familiar with each tense exhale that shudders through Midorima’s shoulders. He’s even able to confidently pick apart faux annoyance until Midorima unravels. 

It’s bothersome, really. 

The boy is amiable and pleasant to be around (albeit exhausting at times), however, which is all that matters to Midorima. 

“Hey, why don't I teach you how to dance?” Takao asks, offering his hand. 

Midorima jolts out of his reverie and quirks an eyebrow, but doesn't bother settling on a reply. He’s been through worse, after all. 

He sighs, and takes his hand firmly. 

So it begins. 

Takao begins to hum; it's a familiar song that washes a wave of nostalgia over Midorima's shoulders.

(Takao has a wonderful voice).

—He’s suddenly transported to an era of hazy, summer heat and fleeting kisses. He is four, eight and twelve all the same.

Light strikes his face like it’s never had to challenge darkness and he is oh-so achingly afraid. He’s afraid of the clamoring of his heart; the proximity of Takao’s orbit; the weight of the world on his shoulders as his knees threaten to buckle.

All in all, they start off strong, but they gradually end up merely stumbling around the block, anyways. Occasionally, they bump into tree stumps (or something of the sorts), but the damage, thankfully, remains minimal. Takao’s wild enthusiasm is enough to fuel the both of them. 

On the other hand, Midorima curses every so often, wincing as Takao gradually stumbles over his feet and into his chest. 

“You're an awful dancer,” Midorima mumbles, ignoring the hazy flush of his cheeks. 

He pushes Takao off hastily. 

“I beg your pardon, miss?” Takao replies indignantly.

He’s dangerously close, and Midorima is unsure of the sudden thundering within his chest. 

“I said you were an awful dancer,” Midorima huffs, and quickly untangles himself from the mess of limbs, fumbling to his feet. 

_Damn it._

“And rightfully so,” he childishly adds. 

He closes his eyes and looks away, taking in the fluttering of his chest. 

“You’re lucky you're cute, Shin-chan.”

A flare of heat expands from his ribcage. He wills it down stubbornly.

“I’m not cute, I’m—” 

He suddenly feels Takao press chapped lips to his cheek. He panics and flusters further; he curls and uncurls his fingers. 

“ _Fearsome,_ ” he finishes, in what he hopes sounds like flourish.

Takao meets his eyes, scoffing, and Midorima's resolve dissipates in what seems like an instant. Before he can pause to reflect on his dreadful actions, he hastily presses a soft kiss to Takao’s forehead. 

A lifetime passes by. 

Midorima’s clamoring heartbeat only seems to cut like an arrow through the stillness of the forest.

• • •

 **“D** o you like me, Shin-chan?”

They're sixteen and Takao still hasn't gotten rid of the dreaded nickname. Instead, he’s only used it in increased frequency. Still, Midorima unabashedly answers to it all the same.

“Marginally, yes. Why do you ask?” 

Midorima wipes a stray smile away with his sleeve. 

“You’re an awful liar,” Takao muses, grinning. 

Today, they're in the guest room. 

Midorima pauses to take a sip of his drink and frowns into his milk tea. Disappointingly, he’s made it far too sweet today. 

In fact, he’s made an entire pot for the two of them, anticipating a hazy, three-cup morning that’s been far and few for the two of them since his crowning. However, he secretly decides that if he could down it whole all while looking socially acceptable, he would. 

Takao signals for the pot of tea and Midorima indulges in his request, languidly filling his mug. 

“Thank you.”

Midorima quietly watches Takao lean back into the comfort of his seat, and wonders how he ever got so lucky. 

“What's on your mind?” Takao murmurs. His voice seems to reverberate against the walls. 

The room is mildly warm, despite the time of day, and Midorima can’t help but simply admire the sunlight filtering across Takao’s skin. 

_You,_ he wants to admit. 

“It’s a nice day out.”

They share a small smile, and Midorima clenches his fist. (If only he were braver, bolder, and—). 

“It is pretty nice out. But you look even nicer, Shin-chan,” Takao mumbles, cheeks colouring. He presses a fist to his mouth in a hurry, looking away. 

Midorima laughs for the first time that evening, easing into a bashful smile. When he calms down, he adds as an afterthought, “You're a damn liar, Kazunari.” 

• • •

 **T** hey're eighteen when they decide to _run_ —away from their duties, their responsibilities, and their titles. 

It's a hasty decision—one that mimics shattered porcelain quietly swept beneath shoddy carpets, really—but quite frankly, it's worth it.

"Are you ready?" Takao asks, offering a firm hand.

(Midorima pretends he isn't shaking. His knees stumble and stutter like a vacant accent. He silently wishes he were stronger).

Still, he nods.

He gradually takes Takao's hand, and they stand upon the clifftop together. Midorima can't recall the last time he felt so _alive,_ and he relishes the moment—soaking in every last drop.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Midorima proudly wears his heart on his sleeve, and the world seems to crumble at their feet. 

• • •

## now

 **“Y** ou're like a lionheart. You know that, Takao?”

(Takao Kazunari is a knight; a protector; the bravest damn lionheart he's ever been given the chance to meet).

Takao smiles, reaching for Midorima’s hand. 

He laces their fingers together, grip loose but tight enough to fully capture Midorima’s attention. Takao’s skin is _hot_ —burning like he has a fever—and every touch sets Midorima ablaze. 

“I’ll bet I was _your_ lionheart in a past life,” he responds, words dipping in the hollow of his mouth. He speaks in a soft, homely tone, one that reiterates wind chimes stuttering along the coast. 

(It's beautiful. _He's_ beautiful).

Midorima decides he would be more than willing to give up his throne for this boy. 

“I'll make sure of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave feedback if desired and have a nice day!


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